Brain Drain
by JennyMoriarty
Summary: Molly doesn't know what's real and what's imaginary anymore. And it's all because of Jim Moriarty.


_Sorry for being a bad uploader/updater. I had exams in April/May and, currently, I'm in Lanzarote. This is just something small as a filler before I update Anti-Ordinary (which will be updated soon, I promise, I just have to edit the last few chapters!)_

_In case you're wondering about the title of this piece, it's homage to the episode of _Charmed_ that gave me the idea._

_As for the piece itself, please slide your insults under the flight-deck door._

* * *

**_Brain Drain._**

Molly's head hurt. She knew she'd been hit, and she knew she'd been hit hard but, how hard and who by, she wasn't quite sure, though, she could almost guess. She didn't remember much, just the immense feeling of terror once she'd understood. But what? What had she understood? She had realised something, that's why she'd been so frightened. But what she'd realised she couldn't, for her life, remember.

Molly tried opening her eyes, the pain of the bright light becoming almost unbearable, only intensifying the ache in her head and making the blood pump harder around it in un-rhythmic, excruciating thumps.  
"There you are," A soft voice said, and she recognised it instantly. She attempted to scramble away, but the restraints around her wrists and ankles made it impossible to do so. "Are you feeling any better?" The voice asked, and Molly could hear the smile in it. "That looked like it really hurt." She felt a hand caress her forehead and shut her eyes tighter. She did not want to see his face. It already haunted her dreams, and that was terrifying enough without it being real and right there in front of her. "Moran gave you something for the pain; it should be kicking in shortly." Molly tried moving a little, only to be shushed by Jim, his thumb running along her temple.  
He was right—of course he was right. He was like Sherlock. He was _always_ right. Molly could feel whatever Moran had given her beginning to take affect already. The aches and pains in her bones were beginning to subside, and her mind was starting to come back into focus. She had to get out of here. But how? She had to remember. But what?  
"You remember Sebastian, don't you?" The voice said, soothingly, his fingers still rubbing against her face lightly and gently. Almost lovingly. "He hasn't been around all that much since you and I first met. He's been away, training. But I'm sure you must remember him. You've met him a few times." Oh she remembered Sebastian alright. And Sebastian, right now, was precisely _not_ what she needed to remember.  
"It's hard to forget a man who tried to kill me." Molly mumbled, still refusing to open her eyes.  
"He wasn't trying to kill you, Molly." Jim's voice said wearily. As if they had been over this a million times before, but to no avail. "He was just doing his job."  
At that moment, a phone bleeped and Jim's hand retracted from Molly's face. "I'm really sorry, Molly." He said, sadly. "I have another case, but I promise I'll be back to visit you later. Please do as Sebastian says. Remember, he's only trying to help you."

* * *

Molly lay there for a good ten minutes before Sebastian came into the room. She had spent the first two of those minutes trying to get her eyes to adjust to the light, the next three minutes trying to figure out where she was—the room itself looked like a sort-of hospital room, white, clean, sterile, but there were no monitors anywhere, so she figured that couldn't be it—and the last five struggling against the restraints, trying her best to loosen them. They didn't loosen. That didn't surprise her.  
"You'll hurt yourself if you don't stop." A rough voice said, and Molly's eyes flickered to the doorway. She instantly recognised the man as Sebastian Moran. Jim Moriarty's infamous sniper.  
"You can't keep me here forever." Molly said, quietly. Her eyes began filling up with tears and Sebastian pretended not to notice.  
"That's the point." He said, tonelessly.  
"What?" Molly muttered in a muted whisper, her brow furrowing and her tears still threatening to fall, but a sudden (and probably futile) bout hope shot through her.  
"If you just did what he told you and stopped fighting him, you'd be released." The man didn't even attempt to mask the boredom in his tone. He said it as though Molly had been fighting Jim for a long time. Whereas, as Molly knew it, he had just showed up at her door earlier that day and, suddenly, here she was. Wherever she was. Then again, everything was so smushed up in her memory that maybe she'd been here for longer—maybe she'd been here _forever_—and she just didn't realise. Realise. What had she realised?  
"My head hurts." She said, to no-one really, but the pain in her head was the only thing she could contemplate right now and so it was the only conversation she could offer Sebastian in return.  
"I can imagine so," He said, and Molly thought she heard a smile in it though, when she looked at him, he was still as stony-faced as ever. "You hit the wall pretty hard."  
So that was it then, was it? She'd had her head bashed against a wall. She wondered briefly who'd done it; had it been Jim or Sebastian or someone she didn't even know, but her question was left unanswered as Sebastian, who seemed to filling a syringe with some sort of clear liquid, turned to her and arched an eyebrow. It was the first sense of emotion she'd ever seen on his face—granted, this was, of course, only their second _proper _meeting. He looked like a cross between amused and worried, and she wasn't entirely sure how he'd achieved that. Then, she supposed, that maybe those who don't so emotion often, show it best.  
"Why the wall, anyway, Hoop? Why not the door? You might have actually had a chance if it had been the door."  
Molly shuddered involuntarily. _Hoop_. That's what he'd called her earlier when he had the barrel of a gun pressed to her temple._ Hoop_.  
"I apologise for this, Hoop, it's going to sting a little." He said, his usual tone returning and his face, once again, devoid of emotion.  
Molly winced as the needle pierced the skin on her inner elbow, and she looked directly at Sebastian's face so as not to have to look at him insert the syringe into her. Her eyes widened slightly at the pain that followed, particularly, once again, in her head.  
"Neuroleptics." Sebastian explained, removing the needle and then his gloves.  
"Neuro-" Molly's eyes widened even further, her head beginning to pound. "What for?" She demanded though, really, she was not in much of a position to demand anything.  
Sebastian turned to look at her intensely. He looked genuinely concerned for a moment, before covering it up with his stone-faced expression, and that sent a terrified shiver up Molly's spine.  
"Jesus, Hooper," He said, taking her face in his hands and searching her eyes. "How hard _did_ you hit your head?"  
"Why do you keep saying it like it was my fault?" Molly asked, as Sebastian pulled out a pen-like torch from the inner pocket of his lab-coat and shone it directly in her eyes.  
Wait, lab-coat?  
What was _he_ doing wearing a-  
"You threw yourself against a wall, Molly." His voice seemed somewhat softer now, and it took a moment for her to register what he'd said. And even when she did register it all she could manage was a-  
"What?"  
He shook his head, actually letting his concern show as he let the hand holding the torch fall away from her face. "You really have no idea what's going on?" He looked at her then, with worried blue eyes and it was all Molly could do just to shake her head. "Ah, Hoop." He bit down on his bottom lip, his brow furrowing intensely. He stopped for a moment, just to look and her, just to _keep_ looking at her, before suddenly undoing the restraints that were holding her down.  
"Wh-what are you doing?" She asked, pleased that he was seemingly letting her go but concerned as to why.  
"Let's go for a little walk, Hoop." He said in a tone that was just that little bit too kind for Sebastian. "Well, _I'll_ walk," He nodded to a wheelchair in the corner. "You just have to promise me that you'll stay in that chair. No repeats of this morning."  
"Okay..." Molly said, unsure of herself. Was she really supposed to believe that she was crazy and had thrown herself against a wall? Did Sebastian really expect her to just believe that? Did Jim?

"C'mon," Sebastian said, lifting her from the table and carrying her over to the chair. "But don't tell Doctor Moriarty." He placed her down into the chair and smiled. It was a little smile, but it was definitely there. "He already thinks I've got a soft spot for you, no need to add insult to injury, or injury to insult in my case." He finished, mumbling.  
Molly's brow furrowed, and she grabbed Sebastian's hand as he went to stand up. His eyes flickered from her face to their hands and back to her face again, and he looked at her as though she really was crazy.  
"Please, Sebastian," She begged. "Please tell me what's happening to me—my head," She brought her other hand up to her forehead. "It _hurts_."  
Sebastian dragged his thumb across her knuckles and then stepped away quickly, pushing the chair out of the room.  
"This is Moriarty Manor." He said, coldly. "It's a hospital for mental patients. Jim..." Sebastian paused. "_Doctor Moriarty_ is the best when it comes to mental consultations. He's a specialist, you see. He's able to help ninety percent of the people who ask him for it."  
"Dear Jim," Molly mumbled. "Can you fix it for me?"  
"Hmm?" Sebastian asked, but Molly just shook her head lightly.  
"Nothing."  
Sebastian wheeled her into a massive room, filled with people of all ages. Instantly, her eyes caught sight of an elderly lady who was holding a plastic phone to her ear.  
"He sounds so soft," She was mumbling.  
She turned away from the woman only to see a young boy who had play-dough stuck all over himself and was counting backwards from ten. Next to him, there was a woman who was crying, rocking back and forth, her hands extended as though she was driving a car. There was a man just standing in the middle of the room, watching everything that was happening, and Molly could tell that he was terrified of something, though she couldn't see what.  
That's when Molly saw him. A rugged, worn-out looking man, sitting in a chair, just staring into space with empty eyes. His cable-knit jumper looked as though it was about three sizes too big and a walking staff lay at his feet. It took her a moment before she recognised him; he looked so broken.  
"John?" She yelled, trying to stand up before feeling Sebastian's firm grip on her shoulder. "John-"  
"Don't," Sebastian told her. "He's suffering from PTSD. Anything could cause him to have a break-down right now."  
"But, you don't understand," Molly pulled her body away from Sebastian's grip, practically falling out of the chair. "That's John Watson, he's my friend! He'll know—he'll know I'm not crazy, he'll—"  
"Molly." A voice cut her off, and it wasn't Sebastian's emotionless yet surprisingly comforting one. This one, no. This one was a soft, sing-song voice. The kind of voice you'd expect a children's storyteller to have. This one terrified her and sent warning shivers into every crevice in her body.  
"Doctor," Molly could hear the tinge of panic in Sebastian's tone, though he spoke flatly. "I was just taking Miss Hooper here for a little walk. She deserves out of that room, sir. It's such a boring dwelling; no wonder she's—"  
"Don't even bother, Sebastian," Jim said, waving a hand. "Your crush is embarrassing but not illegal."  
Sebastian went to say something else but was interrupted by Molly yelling again, causing two or three of the patients and several of the carers to turn and look.  
"John!" She called, but the man in the chair just remained motionless. "John, please?"  
"Molly-Anne Hooper," Jim bent down and stared at her intensely. His voice was soft, but his eyes were manic. How could people not see; how could _Sebastian_ not see? _Jim Moriarty_ was the insane one—not the so-called "patients". Or maybe Sebastian did see; that was more probable. Sebastian did see and still stayed. Either he was being paid fantastically or, and Molly regretted to think this, he was in love with Jim. Though, how anyone could be _in love_ with Jim Moriarty...  
"Listen to me," Jim took her hand and dragged his thumbs along her knuckles. It didn't comfort her, though, in the way that Sebastian's brief encounter with her had. Instead, it just served to terrify her more. "You are going to be okay, Molly. We're going to fix you and you're going to be just fine."  
"Fix me?" Molly sneered. "More like _kill_ me."  
"Molly, I know you've created this scenario in your head, but it's not real. You're—"  
"I'm a mortician," Molly told him, defiantly. "I work at a hospital, I'm not some psycho in a mad house!"  
"You're a patient, Molly." Jim said softly, his eyes finally matching his tone as he looked her solemnly. But then, Molly recalled, Jim Moriarty was a master of disguise. "You're not a psycho. You're fixable." His thumb caressed her knuckles again, and this time Molly felt their soothing touch wash over her. "You were admitted her three years ago, c'mon, Molly. You can remember, remember for me Molly. C'mon." He pleaded with her and, for a moment, Molly almost agreed to it. Then she remembered someone. The most important someone she'd ever met—how could she forget him?  
"Sherlock. I need to find Sherlock." She said, tearing her eyes from Jim's so as to break the connection. His eyes; they did funny things to people.  
"Sherlock's not—" Jim started, but Molly wasn't having any of it.  
"SHERLOCK?" She called, frantically. She tried to stand, but Sebastian put a hand on her shoulder, holding her down. The traitor.  
Of course, in the chaos, no-one had noticed the man in cable-knit jumper who had sat forward slightly at the mention of a certain name.  
"Sherlock's gone, Molly." Jim said, softly but there was something else in it. Something Molly couldn't quite place. Pride? Desire? Fear?  
"You killed him." She snarled, sitting forward until their faces were almost touching. Jim pulled back instantly.  
"No," He looked at her with sad eyes. "He got _better_, Molly."  
"What?" She spat.  
"Why do you always make me out to be the bad guy?" He shook his head dejectedly.  
"You're a murderer!" She all but yelled, and Sebastian's grip tightened around her shoulder.  
"I'm a _psychiatrist_." Jim told her quietly, sitting back on his heels. "Molly, you have to understand that I would never, nor will I ever, _want_ to hurt you. You have been my patient longer than anyone else and I am _never_, _ever_ going to give up on you. I love you far too much for that. If only you could believe me, maybe then we could finally..." He sucked in a deep breath, looking genuinely hurt for a moment.  
"I helped him fake his death..." Molly mumbled, unsure now as to what was really real.  
"You tried to push him down the stairs." Jim shook his head at the memory. "When I intervened, when I tried to help, you took the syringe out of my hand... You... I was out cold for two days."  
"You tried to knock me out?" Molly's brow furrowed. Hadn't he just said that he would never want to hurt her?  
"You tired to kill a man. A man who trusted you." Jim sighed. "It didn't matter anyway because you _did_ push him. He lived, though, and whatever you did, whatever _the fall_ did, it fixed him somehow. He woke up and he was better. He stayed in counselling with me for a year after and now... Now he's free."  
Molly couldn't help it, the tears filled her eyes and suddenly she was crying again.  
"I'm not crazy." She muttered though her tears and she felt the hand on her shoulder tighten a little again. A comforting squeeze. "John," She looked to the man in the cable-knit jumper. Who had sat forward slightly but still looked rather comatose. "Tell him I'm not crazy. Tell them." She said, just loud enough for John to hear.  
"Take her back, Sebastian." Jim shook his head in a defeated manner. "It appears as though she's regressing."  
"Sherlock, John, Sherlock Holmes," She was saying and Jim cut her off.  
"Now, Sebastian," His voice frantic, as though _Sherlock_ was John's buzzword. Sebastian pulled Molly away, returning her to her room but not before she shouted "Two-two-one-b-Baker-Street!" and "Pink! The case was pink!" in John's direction. John didn't move, didn't even blink as Jim pushed him lightly back into his chair.  
"It's alright, Doctor Watson," He told him in a calm and soothing tone. He put his hands to John's temples and was pleased when John didn't so much as flinch. There was no visible reaction from him, not even the tic in his hand that Jim had been expecting. It had taken almost three years to get John to this state, his PTSD having been so bad that for the first six months or so of his admission, John thought he was still in Afghanistan, still in the war, and had ambushed both carers and patients on numerous occasions. "Vatican cameos," Jim said sweetly, lulling John back into his comatose state. There was no need for any sedatives now. Jim stood up and walked away, training his eyes on Molly's door as Sebastian exited. He didn't notice when John finally blinked and muttered "Sherlock" quietly to himself.

* * *

"Molly, Molly, please," Sebastian almost begged as he locked the door shut with a key-code. "I don't want to have force you into the restraints, you know I don't like doing that to you." He sounded so sincere, but he was a traitor. Sebastian Moran was a traitor.  
"I believe in Sherlock Holmes." Molly told him angrily. "The _real _Sherlock Holmes. The brilliant, wonderful, amazing Sherlock Holmes that solved crimes faster than anyone else in the world, the Sherlock that said horrible, nasty things and, yet, I still loved him. The Sherlock that took the fall from Jim Moriarty because of how much_ he_ loved _John_. That same John that's sitting out there now; he knows. Deep in the back of his mind, he knows." She trailed off. "I know he knows."  
"Doctor John Watson was a very broken man when he was admitted," Sebastian said, quietly. "He believed your fantasy because he needed a war, he needed a cause to fight for. You convinced him, Sherlock and Greg that you were all this crack team of avengers, here solely for the purpose of destroying Doctor Moriarty. You had everyone in the hospital playing along, Molly. And then..." He looked conflicted, as if he didn't really want to tell her the next bit. Biting at his upper lip for a moment, he continued. "And then, three years ago, it got out of hand. _The_ _Game_, as you called it. You pushed Sherlock down the stairs, hurt him pretty badly. Doctor Moriarty tried to intervene and you..." He bent down then, looking at her with the same intensely sad eyes that Jim had when he was looking at her. Sebastian's, however, made Molly almost want to believe him. "You were getting better Molly, the last two years, until this instant today, before the wall. You just snapped, started yelling at Doctor Moriarty—something about a man named Richard Brook—I don't know... You saw me and you panicked and then..." He sighed. "You were getting better, Hoop." He told her, this time biting his lower lip. "And for a while, I almost thought..." He stood up then, his expression going stony again. "I better go now," His voice was devoid of emotion once again, and Molly shut her eyes, trying to cling on to the few moments before when he hadn't been just a tin man. "But before I go I'm under orders to put you back in the restraints. I apologise for this Miss Hooper—"  
"No." Molly said quietly, standing up. "I understand." She put her hand to his cheek and he flinched back from her touch, his eyes widening slightly for a moment before snapping back into place with the rest of his stoic expression. She walked over to the bed and lay herself down, looking to Sebastian with those big, sad brown eyes that, really, no woman should be allowed to possess.  
"At least you're not like Miss Adler in room one-four-eight-a," Sebastian allowed himself to smile at Molly as he tied her restraints, rather a bit too loosely, considering how tight they should've been. "She tends to _enjoy_ being tied up." He smiled, walking to the door and entering the key-code. "No-one likes dealing with her, except Anderson..." He gave Molly one last smile, a sad one and Molly shut her eyes. Looking sad when someone can see you was even worse than looking sad when you thought they couldn't. And looking sad straight at them? No, Molly didn't want to see that. "Bye, Hoop." Sebastian said, closing the door to 221c. He instantly locked eyes with his boss and made his way over, as Jim stood, stepping away from Doctor Watson.  
"We can't have that happening again." Jim told Sebastian sternly. "She nearly broke Johnny boy over here."  
"I know. It's been dealt with." Sebastian told Jim, his voice low. "I wonder what caused the break today, I mean; she's been fine for nearly three years."  
"She's becoming immune to the drugs," Jim shook his head. "They all are."  
"Well, do you think that maybe it's time to—"  
"No." Jim silenced Sebastian. "Sherlock's still out there, I know it. And they're not leaving here until he's dead, do you understand?"  
"Yes, sir." Sebastian nodded.  
"Oh and Sebastian?" Jim said, beginning to walk away.  
"Yes, sir?"  
"Stay away from Molly Hooper." He turned to look at his employee a smile on his face, but the devil in his eyes. "She's mine."

* * *

_And there you have it. Poor Molly. Poor John. I toyed with the idea of it being a real psychiatric hospital and having Molly actually be crazy, but the ending just kind-of ran away with itself and it all came down to another one of Jim's 'Games'. It's a bit open-ended, though, so you can imagine it either way; whichever you like yourself._

_Laterz! ~Jenny. :)_


End file.
